


Voice

by Desdimonda



Series: Broken Steps on the Broken Isles - Drabbles and vignettes about Maiev, Illidan and their relationship beneath the shadow of the Legion's invasion on Azeroth and beyond. [10]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 18:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10859997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: This is a continuation of another fic called 'Language' from the 'Broken Steps' series here. But, you don't need to read it to understand, as this is shameless, on top of the command table sex.But y'know, they do fit together well. <3





	Voice

When her cloak fell to the floor, Illidan turned.

When her pauldrons dropped with a clink, Illidan moved.

And when he heard her gentle laugh, muted beneath her helm, he tore it off, letting it fall carelessly, discarded. A gasp slipped past her lips at the force, as her hair fell down her back, pulled free from it’s tie. Only he was allowed to see her like this. But she’d never tell him that. 

Did he already know?

She made no attempt to move, but she didn’t need to. Maiev could feel his desire like an aura, spreading, clawing, it’s desperation wrapping around her, unseen. Heavy lidded eyes watched, waiting, counting the breaths as she tugged on the threads, wound around his heart, his head, his body yielding to her wordless command.

“I guess staying it is,” he drawled in their ancient tongue, his words thick, breathy with lust as he reached out with a hand and dragged fingers over her armour, moulded so perfectly against her form.

“You talk far too much,” she said, elongating every word in that language, in the way that made him _remember_. As she spoke, the whisper of her lips brushed against the slide of his ear as he leaned close; _closer_.

Then he kissed. He kissed her rough, loud, messy. Maiev stepped back once, regaining her balance from Illidan’s passion, from his _need_.

Rough hands pulled on the clips of her armour, severing the leather buckles, and he pulled away her chest piece, letting it join all that had already been discarded on the floor, forgotten. Gripping her behind with his hands, he hoisted Maiev up, thighs nipping at his waist as he lifted her, as if she weighed nothing, and turned.

Maiev gasped as she slid over the command table, the map tearing beneath her armour as Illidan pushed her back, his body pressing, begging, wanting, as his kisses slid to her jaw, her neck, fangs nipping at the skin every time he moved down, down.

Hands sought her breasts, shadowed by the Demon Hunter’s hands, his claws pressing against her skin, pocked with scars, some older than his memories. He rolled a nipple between thumb and finger, pulling a little - enough - feeling her body arch beneath the touch, each kiss, the intensity of _now._

Lips kissed where fingers touched, and still he moved down, down, every breath, every moan a note of beauty, plucked, just for him.

As he moved, horns scratched against her, the rough, weathered edges dragging against her pink skin, painting it rose. Maiev trailed her fingers along the curve to the tips, etching the feel to memory, remembering where the edge had cracked once, as they had fought; remembering how she had held them to push, push him away.

But now, she _pulled_.

Illidan groaned beneath her touch; to feel fingers caress his horns, as they slid along, up, around, as if seeing with her hands, it felt more than good - he felt wanted. _All_ of him, felt wanted. Kisses found metal, and reluctantly, he pulled back. Hands fumbled with her belt - off; with her greaves and boots - off; and with a last rough, impatient tug, he pulled down her leathers until they were on the floor in a heap - _off_.

Every movement made his breath hitch as his hard length pressed desperately against his leathers, untouched. But the moment his spectral eyes watched Maiev spread her legs, as he saw the swathe of her hair, fall, slipping around her arms like the kiss of Elune, he fell to his knees.

Hands sank into her behind, dragging her forward to the edge of the table, and with a breath, as he drew in her scent - heady, tart - he leaned in, and lips met lips. A long, loud moan echoed through the room as her thighs brushed against his ears. Maiev curved around her legs, heels pressing to the base of his wings as she held him in place; where he belonged.

Claws dug into the wood, searing, scratching, as his tongue rolled along her slit, finding her bud, just like before - like he knew. It almost made her angry at how well he knew this; at how well he knew _her_.

The door clicked open.

Maiev’s eyes opened wide as she watched, her heart missing a beat, the whisper of a moan passing her lips.

Scrambling behind, claws tearing at the map, she sought what she wanted and pulled a dagger from the table, sliding blade into hand, then threw it towards the door frame with a flick.

“Get the _hell_ out,” she hissed, watching the dagger sing past the wedge of the open door and into the wood. The door clicked shut, with the stumble of an apology, soon hidden behind the door.

Illidan pulled back, a gentle laugh vibrating against her thigh as he kissed, as he pushed them apart, more, more. “Resourceful,” he said, just as he felt her hands seize a horn. And pull.

“Shut up,” she said, pulling him back to her slit, to wet, warm lips that missed him; that _needed_ him.

Illidan rumbled another laugh against her as he drew a playful fang along her sensitive skin, and heard her swear, felt her body tense, her heels pressing into his back once, twice.

She was scrambling, for something. For traction, for a hold - anything. Fingers slid over horns, through hair, scratching against skin. She pulled off his blindfold, lifting it free, and as he rolled his tongue, again, again, the motion languid, longing, Maiev shoved the balled up cloth between her teeth and bit down, stifling a loud moan. A moan that only he had heard; that only he had made.

Illidan didn’t have to see to know what she had done, and feeling her slip the cloth off around his eyes, feeling her restless hands everywhere, he was near trembling.

Throwing back her head, Maiev bit down, down, her teeth grinding against the cloth as she felt the waves of her pleasure weave together. Oh. She was almost there.

Almost.

Fingers pinched the tips of his horns, and she pulled, claws dragging over the rough edges in harmony to her muffled cries. She could barely sit upright. She could barely see. But she could _feel._

And she felt her pleasure coil,  rise to a peak, to a beautiful, cloying swathe that took away her breath, her voice, until she felt nothing, but him.

Her body was still, just in that moment, and Illidan saw her though his touch, through his taste, through the moans that whispered away, to nothing. And then he stood, roughly, her legs falling away, off, as he grabbed her hips, and without warning he turned her over, her hands scrambling to latch onto the edge of the table, damp from her slit.

Pulling himself free from his leathers, he leaned against her, letting her feel the weight of him, the heat of him, as he slid a hand round , fingers circling her neck like a vice.

He kissed her ear, her neck, dragging his fang along her hot, sweat stained skin as he guided himself inside. Maiev pushed back, back against him, still trembling from her climax, asking, _begging_ for more.

And he answered.

Holding her steady by the neck and hip, tightly, he thrust. He thrust fast and rough, hearing the creak of the table beneath them each time. Maiev reached around to caress, to touch anything, and her fingers twisted through his long black hair, and pulled.

Illidan rasped a moan against her ear, and another, their bodies so close, so tight, as he thrust harder, _harder,_ nudging her further up the table until her knee hoisted on the damp edge. And he joined her, the shift in angle making her cry out his name, drowned in the cloth, still bound between her teeth.

_Illidan. Illidan._

She had called his name before. Endlessly. In anger, frustration, madness - because it was the only thing she knew.

But now, she called his name in ecstasy; for him, _because_ of him.

His fingers slid up her neck, marked from his hold, and he pulled the cloth from between her teeth, dropping it to the table, keeping his rhythm, his pace, as he drove himself deep, deeper inside her again, again and again. He was trembling, he was nearly there - _there_ -

“Say my name,” he whispered against her ear, his lips ghosting the words of their ancient tongue.

Maiev could barely speak, her moans falling unbidden against her throat; a throat that once again was held tight by Illidan’s hand. And she held it with him, finger slipping next to fingers; claws catching claws.

She tilted back her head, letting the wave of her hair cascade, like the shimmer of arcane before his spectral eyes.

“Illidan,” she cried, feeling her body slide over the table again, knees dragging against the rough wood. “ _Illidan._ ”

And with a last hard, rough thrust, sending them almost to the other edge of the table, the map bunching at their knees, Illidan reached his peak, spilling inside her, his fingers around her neck, tightening.

They fell onto the table in a breathless mess of limbs, of hair, of kisses trailed along Maiev’s neck, their bodies held so tightly together. Illidan curved a wing around, the rough edge brushing against Maiev’s arm, her leg, as it surrounded her protectively before he slid a hand between her legs and circled once, twice, more, over her bud - swollen, sensitive - until he brought her back to her peak, feeling her body completely fall, submit against him - in trust. _Trust_.

Maiev held out her hand, her fingers trembling.

Illidan took it, watching their fingers slide together.


End file.
